


Revenge of the TIBBS

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: Tibbs [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Emotionally BAMF!Tony, M/M, Thoughtful Tony, Verbally BAMF! Gibbs, protective Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: What do you say to someone who has been broken by the very people that are supposed to love, cherish, and protect them? No clue. But actions speak louder than words, so maybe, you just try to put them back together again.  
Sequel to Wait ... What?





	1. When the Laughter Dies

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> Many thanks to those that encouraged me to continue with this story!
> 
> This is a continuation of Wait ... what!? 
> 
> This story also contains a male/male pairing. Don't like, please don't read and flame.
> 
> And this may not be for the staunch McGee, Ziva, or Abby fans, as it is likely to involve some bad language toward all three for their treatment of Tony. If you don't like that prospect, then please, again, don't read and then flame.

It would be so easy to wish for happily ever after. To say that when Tony and Jethro fell into bouts of jovial, almost overwhelmingly relieved laughter, that it ended there. Freeze frame, two brilliantly happy smiles, misty eyes, and then fade to black. Simple. Clean cut. Wrapped up Disney-Style.

... life don't work that way. 

Because eventually, the laughter dies, and reality sets in. The heavy weight of truth comes crashing down on the shoulders of two men already struggling to keep themselves from tearing apart at the seams. Their happiness at this sudden turn of events, this unexpected connection, shatters in a matter of moments. Though they drag on endlessly. An eternity of returning to reality. 

Slowly, they pull themselves together. Neither of them bother glancing toward the door, both knowing that the trespasser, so to speak, is gone. Fornell had witnessed a private revelation, but there's nothing to change that at this point. They must move forward. 

They gently extricate themselves from each other, unsteady hands pulling free of wrinkled clothing. Gibbs is the first to look away. Stoic ice blues careening away from the man standing a few scant inches from him. Even looking away, he can feel the chai kissed breath of the taller man, fanning across his lips and cheeks. 

Tony is the first to move. Creating a vast abyss between them with nothing more than the backpedaling of three feet. A distance that seems infinite, unbridgeable. 

"Right, then." Tony exhales pathetically, wheezing when he feels a scratch and tickle at the back of his throat. He turns quickly on his heels, increasing the amount of distance without meaning. He's not running. Not making a nonverbal statement about the sudden revelation, but instead, moving based on need and instinct. Because he -knows- what that tickle means. 

And so does Gibbs.

As Tony rushes toward the kitchen, Gibbs about faces and moves toward their bags. He doesn't bother with Tony's, knowing that what he seeks could be in any tuck or fold. No, he goes straight for his stuff. Because he knows where everything is. So, he has but to unzip the top, pop a single button and draw out the little red emergency inhaler. He launches himself to his feet and moves off in pursuit of his SFA. 

Tony is hunched over the kitchen sink, the water running at full blast. His shoulders shudder and stutter with each violent cough that rips through him. Gibbs is to his side instantly. One hand rests firmly, heavily, against the small of the younger man's back. The other hand shakes the little red inhaler, before popping the top and handing it to the younger agent. Though, he doesn't let Tony grab it, so much as wait to feel the familiar weight of Tony's hand wrapping around his own. Guiding the mouth of the inhaler to his lips. 

A quick hit, hold .. hold .. exhale. Second quick hit .. hold ... hold .. hold ... exhale. Tony finds himself listing to the side, pressing weakly into Gibbs who never says a word. Just continues to press his hand comfortingly to the small of his friend's back. Continues to offer up the silent support he has always given the younger man. Until the silence becomes too much.

"Better, DiNozzo?" 

"Better .... B-Boss." Tony wheezes the words out, his tongue flicking across his lips to try and moisten them after the inhaler's chemicals dried them out. The hand at his back lifts, headslapping him gently, with no more force required than to ruffle his hair a little bit.

"Not Boss here, Tony." 

"Not DiNozzo here, Jethro." The quick witted banter flows as naturally as ever, despite another cough soon following. "S-Sorry .. for that." 

"Too much cinnamon, Tony." He points out without malice, both of them knowing the truth of it. Gibbs pulls away long enough to head to the fridge, fishing a bottle out. He's back to his friend's side as soon as he can be, though, hand on the small of his back. He uses the point of contact to guide Tony. Turns him away from the sink once it's off, through the kitchen, and back into the living room. "Drink." He commands, fumbling the cold glass bottle into outstretched hands. Tony glances at the label before he struggles to pop the metal lid off. Then double takes. A smile is slow to sweep across his features, but it returns the sunlight to the room. Causes that mercurial ball of warmth to lodge somewhere between Gibbs' heart and belly, and he turns to settle on his chair.

"Thanks, Jethro." Tony mumbles the words a moment before taking a deep, steady, but slow drink of the brew. Cold tea, only slightly sweetened, with honey, lemon, and mint. All things to help sooth a cough and keep his scratchy throat from shredding like crumbly cheddar when he inevitably spends the night hacking up his lungs. "Wow. The good stuff. I feel all warm and tingly. Special." Tony is yawning by the time he says the word special, amusement playing through his hazel green eyes. He glances from Gibbs, toward the couch, and then back again.

"You are special. -Very Special- Agent Anthony DiNozzo." The reappearance of that half-smirk sends Tony's heart to beating faster. Though maybe, that's just the adrenaline building up to pave the way for another coughing fit. He kinda hopes for the former and not the latter. "Not gonna happen, Tony." Gibbs sighs the words, trying but failing to mask the tired sadness in his voice. "We can talk more later. Go get some sleep while you can. Work tomorrow."

Special Agent Sad Pants frowns, his lips pursing into a puppy-ish pout when Gibbs refuses to come settle with him again. He's hard pressed not to see it as a rejection, but in the next breath, he knows better. Hadn't it been pointed out by half a dozen people today, that they may as well already be a couple? And if Gibbs said he'd talk .. well, Gibbs doesn't really say anything he doesn't mean. So, he takes a careful, deep breath, and then nods his head. 

"Alright. On one condition." He pushes himself to his feet, listing faintly to the side once more, but managing to keep himself upright by sheer willpower. "If you end up in the basement, I will, too. Right there, on the stairs. Go get some shut-eye, Jethro." With another flash of that megawatt smile, Tony turns and makes his way up the stairs to find a little sleep. The movement blocks Gibbs' resultant smirk from him.

* * *

Tony awakens slowly. His eyes feel like a mixture of grit and tar, his hands pushing tentatively against his lids to palm away the sleep debris that clings to his tawny lashes. For one horrible, terrifying moment, he can't see anything. But then the grit falls free and he blinks rapidly to orient himself. 

He is tired. Heavy as lead and twice as unresponsive. His hands push weakly at the scratchy fabric of the blanket he's curled in. Part of him wants to roll over and take another stab at actually managing to sleep. The other part of him wants to get up and go to work. 

"Tone." Gibbs knocks gently at the door, as split down the middle as his SFA is at the moment. They're working cold cases, so a part of him wants to let Tony remain here. Catch up on the sleep he missed during his night of high-velocity coughing. He doesn't want to, he -really- doesn't, but he can picture how Tony must look. Bags under his eyes, the corners of them covered in sleep sediment. Lips slightly off color though not blue, thank god. Just a little pale. Cheeks drawn, dusted with flecks of mottled red. The adrenaline flush of a night filled with coughing. His forehead sinks against the door for a moment, eyes closed tight. Until he sees sparks of color against closed lids. "You awake?"

His eyes close tighter, almost resulting to praying. If he's asleep, he can slip out. Head into work and not have to make Tony feel as if he's being left behind. Because he knows his SFA. Tony will retreat into his head, fearing that Gibbs thinks he isn't capable of doing the job. By trying to protect him, he will offend him, and now is -not- the time for a fight. They have taken a monumental step forward, even with so much left unsaid. There's no time for a step back.

"I'll be down in 10, Jethro." Tony calls out as he carefully climbs out of the bed. He feels achy, his limbs heavy and stiff. He glances down at himself, almost expecting to see bruises on his nude form. But no, just the aches and pain. 

Gibbs flinches on the other side of the closed door, sighing against the well worn wood. Damn it, DiNozzo .. should've still been asleep. He taps his finger tips against the door before he turns and pads back down stairs. Silently, he puts some of his old Marine training to use by cursing a blue streak in the relative safety of his own mind.

Once Tony manages to get up and pull on some boxers, he goes about getting dressed. Washes up, scrubs his face clean, brushes his teeth and shaves. He moves on autopilot. Feet carrying him about the bathroom and bedroom without much thought. He's already pulled on his black suit pants and ice-blue dress shirt before he realizes that he's done so. Socks and shoes, and he takes one last chance to run a comb through his hair. No product. No bells, whistles, peacocking, or showboating. Just flattering comfort. He casts a longing look at Gibbs' NIS shirt, and after a quick argument with himself, he snaps it up.

Downstairs, he shoves the shirt into his bag before turning and making a B-line for the kitchen. Not in the least bit surprising, Gibbs is leaning against the counter in front of his coffee pot, a mug of coffee settled in his hands. However, before he can actually take a drink, DiNozzo steps up next to him. It is anyone's guess who is more surprised by the next gestures. Gibbs, for holding the coffee cup out to him, or Tony for taking it. He wraps his fingers carefully around the mug, before lifting it to his lips. Three slow, careful breaths blown across the surface and then he takes a deep, long drink. He gulps the bitter brew, finding more pleasure than he usually would in the undoctored stuff. He finally hands the mug back, blushing deeply at the look of fond amusement on Gibbs' features. 

"Ready?" The silver fox murmurs before knocking back the last of the coffee, Tony nodding wearily. He yelps in surprise when he finds an arm going around his waist, turning to lead him back into the living room. "Find your emergency inhaler, Tony. Make sure it's close to the surface of your bag." 

"On it, boss."

* * *


	2. McZiva

McGee yawns, grunting as he falls into his chair. He glances around, grinning almost smugly when he realizes that he's the first one in. Or, well, he assumes that Gibbs is doing any number of things, probably having been there since sun up. He looks around momentarily, making sure that no one else is close. He grabs up a sticky note and writes I BEAT YOU in big letters. He walks over and slaps it onto Tony's monitor before he returns to his seat.

About twenty minutes later, Ziva stalks in, dropping her bag beside her desk. She looks .. angry. Her gaze darts around the room, her lips pursing into a frown.

"He's late." McGee points out gleefully, leaning back in his seat. He snaps his feet up onto the edge of the desk, imitating Tony. From her desk, she can see the bright yellow sticky-note, and she grins. She grabs up her bright orange pad and writes YOU LOSE on the top one.

It quickly joins McGee's on Tony's monitor, smirking before she returns to her seat.

"What do you reckon .. hot date, or missed alarm?" Timmy grins, leaning further back in his seat, eyes fluttering closed as he relaxes. Ziva grunts a faint laugh, lifting a single shoulder in a disinterested shrug.

"Both are likely. I do not care, McGee." She dismisses the words, powering up her computer.

"Neither." Gibbs barks as he walks into the bullpen, frowning. He reaches out and smacks McGee's feet off his desk, causing the younger agent to yelp in surprise as he sits straight up in his seat. The silver fox stops abruptly. His head turning a fraction to catch the two sticky-notes on Tony's computer. A muscle under his eye jumps and he turns to watch Tony walking carefully into the bullpen. 

"Gonna speculate on why I wasn't here first?" He snaps at them both, glaring angrily between the two as they struggle to decide if they are actually supposed to answer that. When they both bow their heads in acquiescence, he gives a curt nod. "Didn't think so. Neither of us are late. Just because you managed to make it on time, doesn't mean you have the right to run your traps." He snarls the words, Tony wincing as he moves toward his chair. The wince becomes a full body jerk of surprise when Gibbs' free hand squeezes at his arm. Ceasing his movement. Gibbs nods toward his own desk, and Tony changes course without question. Even when he doesn't instinctively understand the course of action Gibbs takes, he trusts that it is the right action. 

Gibbs stalks over and yanks the sticky-notes off, crumpling them in his hand before binning them. He turns and drops a paper bag onto the desk, his bag ending up on the ground beside his SFA's. 

"I got MTAC for the next few hours. You three, cold cases. Start with the Jefferson/Bethesda case." He waits, semi-patiently. And isn't the least bit surprised when Tony silently goes to work, despite the shitty condition he's in. When Ziva and McGee continue sitting there, unmoving, he feels another muscle jump under his eye. "NOW, YOU TWO!" His words are a near bestial growl this time, causing both agents to jump in surprise and begin scrambling. Tony shakes his head in disgust, grabbing up two folders and holding them out. 

"... here!" It's Tony's turn to snarl, waving the file folders angrily. The two finally leap from their chairs, tripping over themselves and each other to grab the folders and rush back to their desks. As Tony scrubs his hands down his tired features, Gibbs steps up to his side and reaches into the paper bag. He draws out a few containers, settling them in front of his SFA. 

"Eat, DiNozzo. And keep your inhaler close." He leans down and close to his friend's ear, not wanting the other two to hear him, worried that they would use it to tease the man who has no control over his health. He stands straight and turns, about facing on his way toward the stairs leading to MTAC. 

"On it, Boss." Tony's scratchy voice manages to follow the older man before he turns to get to work. 

"... for real? We have to work, and you get to eat breakfast? Yeah, that seems fair." McGee whines beneath his breath, slapping the file folder open. A few pieces of paper flutter and flap to the floor, but he ignores them for now. 

Tony glances down at the containers in front of him. His first thought had been to listen to Gibbs. To down the contents and hope for the best, but some part of him still can't get past all of it. Some part of him still desperate to be liked by his teammates. To be viewed as family by the ones he considers to be such. 

So, he takes a deep breath and carefully repacks the food. He shoves the paper bag into the first mostly clear drawer he can find in his Boss' desk and yanks the file folder over in front of himself. 

"It's not like I'm not going to work, Probie." He bites out, glaring down at the paperwork in front of him. "So, what do we know about the Jefferson/Bethesda case?" He drawls out, silently wishing that they could just get on with the day. Get to work, something he knows he is good at, no matter what anyone else thinks. 

"You have the same papers we do, Tony, do you not?" Ziva snaps out, rustling through the papers in her file. Not bothering to look up and meet his gaze. He inhales slowly, carefully, holding it when he feels the familiar, hellish tickle. He will not cough right now. Will. Not. 

"Yes, Officer David, I do. However, I am asking -you- to tell me what we have on this case." He grits the words out through clenched teeth, his jaw aching with the intensity of it. Struggling, he manages to pry the file out of his own hand, settling it in front of himself before he accidentally tears it with his white-knuckled hold.

Though he is not watching, he can -almost- make out the nonverbal exchange that happens between McGee and Ziva. The way they probably both shake their heads, roll their eyes, lean over their files to silently peruse them. On and on the seconds tick, Tony's jaw tightening even further.

"SOMEONE REPORT RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" He snarls savagely, his hand smacking the top of the desk. Both agents jump in surprise, exchanging angry, near disgusted looks before Ziva waves toward McGee. She has no intention of humoring the man, and she is sure McGee would've caved sooner or later. So, McGee heaves a heavy, disgruntled sigh and begins to drone on, in the heaviest, most monotone voice he can.

Tony grabs the edge of his bag and carefully pulls it closer to his feet, the harsh tone of voice from moments ago grating his throat. He will pay for his anger, but at the same time .. well, what choice had their disrespect given him??

* * *


	3. Introspection

Gibbs hands curl into unsteady fists, pressing against his hips as he watches his team from the balcony. He knows that he needs to go. That he -must- go to MTAC as the job requires, but this truth rankles him. He is torn down the middle. Duty dictates that he turn around and head to work. But his head/heart? They are demanding he walk down those stairs and tear into the two agents that are giving the Senior Field Agent a hard time. 

He feels primal, in this moment. He wants blood and retribution. He wants to rend their skin, clip their entrails, reduce them to bone dust! His palm comes down viciously on the railing and he staves off the instinctual need burning through his gut. Instead, he forces himself to take several steps back and turn toward MTAC. 

Ice blue eyes are forced open wide, the retinal scanner making him blink several times before he enters the com hub. Five minutes. He only has five minutes until he must be in Agent mode! How the hell is he supposed to do that when he feels as if he could scream until he cannot breathe!? He turns, throwing himself into the closest seat and carefully pushing down until he almost disappears into it.

"Get. It. Together." The words are a fervent plea to himself, his hands clenching and unclenching against his knees. His shoulders hunch almost painfully, his eyes snapping closed. This is more stress than he has felt in a while, but he is in no way surprised that it revolves around Anthony DiNozzo Jr. 

It is a toss up -why- he is ever stressed, but Tony is usually the source of it. If he's been hurt, if he's failing at a crime scene, if he's allowing his silly persona to overtake the truth of his ability ... all of these things stress Gibbs out. But at the moment, he is stressed because he knows that -he- is at fault. 

He can bitch and whine and moan. He can curse a blue streak about the way McGee and Ziva have been treating Tony, but in the end .. he knows damn well that he is at fault as well. Twofold, actually. Partially because he has sat back and pretended to buy into the mask DiNozzo wears on a daily basis. He has -seen- the truth, saw it all the way back in Baltimore. Saw it when they were a two-man team. He knows that Tony is a damn good investigator, is even beginning to hone his intuition on a level par with his own. He failed his poor fool by allowing him to be just that; a fool. He should've corrected Tony's self-deprecating behavior in front of the team a long time ago.

He is also partially at fault because he has never been that clear with the chain of command. The second B for bastard has always kept a tight rein on his team. Because they are -his- team. Always. This began as a way to differentiate between himself and the Director of NCIS. He is Bossman, therefore, they report to him. Somewhere along the way, he forgot to instill the respect deserved his Second-In-Command. He failed Tony by not showing the other Agents that he holds a position of honor and respect. 

"Grrr!" He steels himself, his hand flashing upward, smacking the back of his own head in retaliation for his failure. Though he would be the first to admit, to himself at least, that he deserves a far worse punishment for so spectacularly letting his SFA down. He hesitates a moment, before his fingers compress a little tighter, and he slaps his head a second time, wincing. 

This action is the catalyst he needs to leap to his feet and swift change from Jethro to Gibbs. He clears his throat, reaches toward the cup holder on his seat, and curses softly. He forgot coffee. 

"Agent Gibbs?" A soft, squeaky feminine voice cuts through Gibbs thoughts and he whirls around to see a young woman standing just inside the door. For one long, torturous moment, he wonders if she had been there long enough to see him Gibbs-slap himself, but she looks sufficiently scared of him, so he assumes not.

"Yeah?" He drawls out, forcing his body to loosen just a little. Even in Gibbs mode, there is no reason to be overbearing and authoritative at the moment. Though the complete absence of coffee is -almost- a good reason. Almost. 

"S-sorry, sir. I mean A-agent G-gibbs." She squirms where she stands, her eyes downcast and not meeting him. Where he would usually get frustrated by such actions, -especially- without caffeine, he finds it amusing for some reason. So much so, in fact, that he flashes that ever so rare smile.

"It's alright. I'm not gonna bite." He waves her closer, and she hesitates for a moment before nearly barreling into the room. She holds a cup out to him, his eyes widening and then narrowing. Because he can smell it. Coffee. No, not just that, -his- kind of coffee. Oh god, he almost reaches out with Abby-like grabby hands to demand the cup, but manages to restrain himself.

"Right, Agent Gibbs. I was asked .. to, uhm .. to bring you this. Agent DiNozzo sent it." She holds out the cup, and to look at her, one would think she is half expecting a thanks and half expecting to be yelled at. So, she's rather gobsmacked by the sudden, brilliant smile that lights Gibbs' features as he reaches out for the cup. He pulls a small sticky-note off the side of it.

'Try not to growl too much, Boss. Since you were so busy taking care of me, and forgot about yourself, I present you with one perfect cup of sludge. ;) See you in a bit boss. PS; thank Michelle for being nice enough to actually approach your grumpy ass. - Tony'

"Thank you, Michelle." The words are out before he can even think to filter them. There's no grunt, no growl, no monosyllabic, functioning mute response. Just a straight up thanks. And that same warm smile that he just can't seem to shake as he rereads the silly little note three times. When he glances up, Michelle looks pale and .. constipated? Or maybe just really uncomfortable. Because the grumpiest Agent in all of NCIS just thanked her. She turns suddenly and -flees- from the unnatural sight. Gibbs quirks a brow, shrugs his shoulders, and shoves the note into his pocket. 

The first drink of the coffee is pure heaven. He can actually envision DiNozzo grinning brightly at the happiness Gibbs finds in such a silly thing. This is not at work behavior. Every part of Gibbs knows that to be true. But he really just doesn't give a -damn-. He feels a little lighter, a little happier, than he did yesterday, and God help anyone who thought to take that away from him!

He turns toward the room a moment before he hears everyone else beginning to arrive. He takes another sip of his coffee before finding a spot to set it. Full Gibbs mode.

* * *


	4. McZiva 2.0

His head is beginning to throb. The incessant chatter from McMouthpiece and Agent Ziva David is beginning to make his skin crawl. Add to that the fact that he has coughed almost two dozen times in the past hour and a half, his stomach is beginning to lodge a rather loud protest for his lack of breakfast, and the fact that they have not made a single inch of progress on this cold case .... well, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo is beginning to lose his mind and his temper. 

In fact, he has a single moment of wistfulness when he wonders if he could flesh wound both of them and not get caught. Though, well, of course not. No, there are far too many witnesses for that. Think, DiNozzo! And no, there is no way in the fiery pits of -hell- that he heard those two words in Gibbs' voice.

Speaking of Gibbs ... he glances at his watch, calculating how long his Boss has been stuck in MTAC with only the one cup of coffee, and he actually winces. Not good.

"There -might- be a few survivors .." He mumbles to himself, the left corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.

"What are you on about, Tony?" McGee drawls out in a bored, nasally voice and Tony groans softly beneath his breath. Now is -not- the time for McGee to be speaking. He manages to rein in his temper, looking up for a moment. 

"I was talking to myself, McGee. It's nothing." He sets the Jefferson/Bethesda file aside, rubbing at his eyes. Just as he begins contemplating what he needs to do, such as finally fishing his breakfast out, it feels as if something electrocuted his brain. His eyes widen and he grabs the file, yanking it open desperately and flipping to the last page he had been reading.

"If you were talking to yourself, Tony, should you not have remained silent?" Ziva snarks, her best falsely sweet smile in place as she preens. Surely, she is the funniest, wittiest, yes? Tony waves a hand to shut her up, his eyes scanning for what he needs. "Did you not hear me, Tony??" The words are quietly seething, not liking the fact that he seems to be outright ignoring her. In fact, her hands tighten a little on her desk, her head canting to the side as she waits for him to look at her. To say something. Acknowledge the fact that she has spoken. 

"Not now." Flip, flip, shove. He rearranges pages until he finds what he's looking for and begins to scan the material.

"Tony!" Ziva blows up like a bullfrog, prepared to launch into some tirade that Tony simply doesn't have time for.

"Ziver" He doesn't scream. Doesn't holler. There is no anger or frustration in the calling of her name. Instead, he calls on all of his Gibbs-resources, the Boss Voice he has fashioned after Gibbs ability to control a situation by sheer willpower, and is rewarded richly. Ziva's mouth snaps closed and she finds herself sitting up a little straighter. 

"McGee, I need you to head down to Abby's lab. I have something she needs to check on." He grabs up a pen and begins to make notes on the information that had drawn his attention.

"Do it yourself, Tony." McGee scoffs, not even bothering to look up at the man when he disobeys him. Tony's eyes flash with anger. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts his gaze from where he's been squinting at the page. His features are slightly red from his last round of coughing, his lips a little pale from the same. He forces himself to swallow slow and deliberate. Symbolizing swallowing his temper when all he wants to do is walk over and smack the hell out of the fool. 

"You know what? You're right, McGee. This is important and needs to be done right. Last thing I would want to do is send you off to fuck it up." He pushes himself to his feet, snatching the file up and heading toward the elevator. By the time he gets there, Ziva and McGee have both exited their desks and are gaping after him. He definitely was -not- the type to drop an F-Bomb at work, no matter how frustrated or upset he was. They exchange confused looks and quietly return to their desks.

* * *

For nearly half an hour, they are left alone to their own devices. McGee pulls up a video game, lounging back in his chair as he plays some stupid piece of action rather than working. Ziva pulls out the iPod Abby got her and plugs the earbuds into her ears. She leans back in her chair, and after a moment, lifts her feet to rest on the edge of the desk as she waits. 

They find themselves fading into their own worlds. Shirking work in favor of personal comfort. So it is that neither of them are aware of the elevator door opening to admit one Very Annoyed Special Agent. Tony's features are contorted in pain and sadness, and he is fighting them both as best he can. 

His chest and throat hurts. A rapid round of gunfire-like coughing had nearly wiped him out completely. The lack of breakfast and the added stress of a team that refuses to work with him has left his health quickly waning. Worse than that, is the fact that he has returned from Abby. Which meant yanking a TRAINEE sticker off his forehead and throwing it in the nearest bin. Because one -never- questions Abby's forensics, because apparently, she is infallible. 

Tony stops dead in his tracks. His hand flies toward his forehead, the headache resonating so deeply that he wonders his nose and eyes are not bleeding with the painful pressure. He takes a deep, wheezing breath and turns to look around for a moment. When he spies Michelle, he waves her over with a faint smile and hands her an identical cup.

"Head that into MTAC, okay? Gibbs again. Thank you so much, Michelle." He offers her his most winning smile before he turns back toward his 'team.' There is no cooling his anger this time. He doesn't even -attempt- to try and hold his temper at bay as the heights of their disrespect continue to rise. 

He doesn't announce his presence. Oh, no. He walks up to McGee's desk and reaches around, hitting the power button. He takes a sort of grim satisfaction at the fact that McGee outright squeals in anger.

"The hell, Tony!? I had a file open and I was almost to a new high score!" Tony whirls around and stalks to Ziva's desk then. He slaps her feet down and grabs the earbuds, pulling them out as he snags the iPod.

"I was listening to that, Tony!" Ziva tries to grab after the device, but Tony is already out of range. He yanks open the drawer with his uneaten breakfast and tosses the iPod in. In the next moment, he is staring down his pissed off team. But their anger isn't anywhere -near- his own levels of it. 

"Was that file related to -any- of the cold cases we're supposed to be going over, -Agent- McGee??" When the younger man gives a single shake of his head, Tony lets out a humorless laugh. "No, of course it wasn't. First, you couldn't be bothered to run something to Abby when asked, and now you're not bothering to actually look at any of the cold cases we're supposed to be working on. I'm all for goofing off, but there's a time and a place for that." He then turns his blazing gaze on the woman, who is standing with arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Same goes for you, -Officer- David." He inhales shakily, feeling his throat beginning to close yet again. No. Now is -not- the time to cough! It would undermine his anger and he won't have that. "This is not the time to be listening to music with your feet up! While I was visiting Abby, you two could've picked any of the other cold cases we're supposed to be reviewing, and instead, were doing this shit." He growls angrily and turns to look around the room for a minute. He walks to McGee's desk and lowers himself down beside it. He grabs the power cord from the man's computer and stands. The cord joins the iPod in the desk drawer.

He then walks to Ziva's desk and grabs the chair, rolling it behind his desk. They both immediately begin to protest and he turns upon them both.

"Shut. The fuck. Up." He knows the language is not right for being at work, despite the fact that they work with a lot of Sailors and Marines. He takes a deep breath, his hands furled into furious fists at his sides. "I am sick and tired of both of your behavior."

"You are not Gibbs, Tony!" McGee grunts, starting to walk toward the desk to get his power cord back.

"Only Gibbs is allowed to discipline us in such a way." Ziva remarks, starting to retrieve her chair. Tony turns around and slams his hand down on Gibbs' desk, causing both agents to yelp in surprise and wheel around to face him. 

"You're right, McGee. And you're -wrong- Ziva. I'm not Gibbs. Never will be, and not even -trying- to be at the moment. Because if I -was- Gibbs, you'd -BOTH- be off this team before you could take your next breath." He glares from one to the other. "As for discipline .. wrong, Ziva. By the chain of command, I damn well -can- discipline you when Gibbs isn't here. I am the Senior Field Agent. When Gibbs is abscent, I -out rank- you -both-." He speaks slow, deliberate, and darkly. He isn't raising his voice, isn't screaming expletives like he -wants- to.

"Tony --" Both agents have changed their tones. From combative to placating. 

"No." He speaks the single word viperously, his throat constricting again. He must force himself to keep his hand from lifting to push and prod at it, as if that will stave of the tickle. "Just, no. Too little, too late. We've had this conversation once before, and now you're making me say it again. The disrespect and the bullshit, ends now." He inhales a deep, steady breath, turning away from the two of them. 

"Probie. You will take the Patterson, Borrian, and Anderson cases and create a paper and pen spreadsheet showing all the information we have on the cases, as well as highlight any inconsistencies." He walks to Gibbs' desk and settles in the chair, carefully opening his bag. "Ziva. Get your chair and call up all the requisition forms in the Betta case. I think we missed something there." Even without looking up, he hears them move into action. He hears the rustling of paper at McGee's desk, the rolling of Ziva's chair as she gets it back to her desk to begin working.

He fishes a set of keys from the bag and easily finds the one he needs. He yanks the food out of the drawer and tosses it away, before locking the iPod and the power cord up. Once they are returned to his bag, he reluctantly grabs the emergency inhaler and shoves it into his pocket. 

As the two agents finally begin to work, as Tony settles back in the chair to try and fight the wave of nausea and pain, they all miss the frowning man standing on the balcony. Gibbs had emerged from MTAC long enough to hit the head and find Michelle waiting for him with another cup of coffee. Even without a sticky-note, he knew it was Tony looking out for him. As usual. 

Rather than immediately head back in, like he -knew- he should, he allowed himself to slip over to the balcony and peek over at his team. At his SFA. Which means he is actually privy to the two defying the Senior Field Agent. He watches as Tony finally snaps and puts them in their places. That should be the end of it, he knows it should. But some part of him says that it won't. That they will pop off once more and he hopes that he will have a free moment to rectify their attitudes. 

When he sees the full bag of food thrown away followed by Tony pocketing his inhaler, he winces. His hand tightens on the railing, trying to keep himself from heading down into the bullpen to see if his friend is okay. 

"Boyfriend." He snorts the word in utter amusement, still finding it funny beyond belief that they had practically been dating this last year. He shakes his head to clear it, reluctantly turning away from the scene below. On second thought, however, he waves down Michelle. She has been kind enough to bring him coffee and a note by Tony's request, he can only hope she'll help him as well.

He pulls out his memo pad, carefully penning out a note as Michelle approaches.

"Thank you." With the note passed off, coffee in hand, he returns to his current duties, trying to push the worry from his mind.

* * *


	5. Trainee

One hour and a little bit of stilted conversation later, McGee and Ziva are working quietly. Tony eventually unlocked the desk and returned the power cord and iPod. 

Every few minutes, his eyes stray toward the piece of paper that Michelle had delivered to him.

'Tony, please eat something.' Four little words but they had the ability to leave him feeling breathless and warm all over. Gibbs doesn't say please very often. So, he had slipped away to the vending machine and bought a protein bar. Chalky and nowhere near the level of sweetness he was used to, but he knows that it would do. At least, until he has a chance for an actual meal. 

He chews quietly, making a face around the bar as he tries to get it down. 

"Looks disgusting, DiNozzo." The sudden, succinct sound of Gibbs' distinctive voice actually cause McGee and Ziva to snap to, though neither of them look up from their work. 

"That's because it is, Boss." Tony finally manages to swallow before putting the protein bar down. He looks up from the work he had been doing, seeing Gibbs standing at the edge of the desk. 

"Why didn't you eat breakfast?" He knows that this isn't the place to talk about this. It's too personal, more about them than it is work, but he is worried. He glances up at the other two, making sure they aren't rubbernecking their conversation. At least, not noticeably.

Tony hesitates to answer, but in the end, he doesn't have to. At least, not verbally. He cuts his gaze toward the other two and Gibbs wants to curse. He starts to turn, but the feel of Tony's hand on his arm stills him instantly. He quirks a brow at the younger agent, who gives nothing more than a subtle shake of his head and an entire conversation has passed between them.

No, Tony doesn't want Gibbs to call McGee and Ziva out on their bullshit, and Gibbs will only refrain from it because Tony is the one asking. His hand lifts, fingers brushing the back of Tony's hand where it rests on his arm. It is quick, subtle, and profound. Another example of home life bleeding into work life, but neither of them seem to mind.

"You were right, Tony." The sound of McGee's voice cuts through the warm moment between them and they pull apart naturally. Gibbs steps back to let McGee approach the desk. "There were inconsistencies in all three cases, but I went one further. All three cases were head by the same LEO. However, I cannot tell if they are intended or accidental." Tony sighs and nods.

"Alright, McGee." Ziva jumps up next, waving a print out toward Tony.

"I do not understand the need of reviewing the requisition forms, Tony. There were some inconsistencies there, as well, but I think they are meaningless." She tosses the print out onto the desk, Tony barely managing to catch it before it hits the surface. His jaws clench as he looks the information over. He grabs up a pen and circles a few things, before holding the paper back out to her. Eyes narrowed, jaw still clenched.

"Well, Officer David, I didn't ask for your opinion on the task, only that you do it." He stands from the desk, fighting a wave of dizziness. He jabs a finger at the paper. "If you had looked closer, you'd see that the discrepancies follow a pattern that confirms that someone was skimming from supplies. Since the Betta case is surrounding the murder of a requisitions officer, it opens up the possibility of the theft being the motive for the murder. There aren't many people on the list that had access to those supplies." Gibbs' smile is growing larger and larger as he listens to his SFA. See, -this- is why Tony holds the position! -THIS- is why he encouraged him to leave Baltimore and come to DC.

"Good work, DiNozzo." Tony's cheeks fill with a little bit of heat, and he nods toward Gibbs in acknowledgement of the praise. He doesn't try to make him repeat it, doesn't try to draw attention to the compliment. He just smiles. He reaches down to grab his bag, moving across to his own desk and settling it there. He misses the slightly disappointed look on Gibbs' face. 

"Ziva, McGee, go grab lunch. An hour, then back here." Gibbs moves to his desk and grabs something from one of the drawers. "DiNozzo, lets get lunch." Tony hesitates for a moment before he grabs his bag and shoves it into his drawer, locking the drawer up.

"Sure, Boss. I gotta stop at the Lab first, though. I had Abby rerun one of her tests on the Jefferson/Bethesda case. If I'm right .. I think we have a suspect, finally." Gibbs reaches out to clap him lightly on the shoulder, grinning.

"Come on, then."

* * *

Abby's music can be heard even before the elevator settles in place, both men wincing minutely at the raging sound. Tony can feel an awkward, painful sensation settling in his stomach. One of those legendary gut reactions, and this one is telling him that something with Abby ain't gonna be good. 

His features soften and then blank out, becoming completely unreadable. Even Gibbs cannot discern what is going on in his head and really doesn't like that fact. For many reasons.

"Everything alright, DiNozzo?" 

".. I don't think so, Boss." Tony glances at the older man from his peripheral, his own eyes slightly stormy with pain and uncertainty. "We should't bother, Gibbs. I'm pretty sure she didn't do the test." He has to struggle not to shut down, struggle to speak loud enough that Gibbs can hear him over the deafening music. 

Gibbs' eyes widen, his mouth tightening in a white line. He huffs a silent sigh and heads into Abby's lab. She's sitting on her evidence table, her head bobbing to the music as she tries to concentrate on a small contraption in her hands. Gibbs walks to her radio and shuts it of with a little more force than required. It causes her to eep loudly and scramble down from the table.

"GIBBS!! No Caf Pow?" She juts her bottom lip out in a pout, not even acknowledging Tony where he is standing. Staring. He can feel a muscle under his eye jump and he fights down the sudden and overwhelming desire to just turn around and leave. It's obvious that she hadn't taken the time to do her job. 

"No, Abs." Gibbs grunts, shaking his head.

"Well, that makes sense. No case, no reason for Caf Pow! But, since there isn't a case, there isn't evidence for me to go through, so no information for you. Why did your Gibbs' sense lead you down here?" She turns to set the contraption she had been fiddling with on the table, turning back toward the team leader with her bright, Abby smile. Which Gibbs doesn't return.

Instead, he turns away from her, his eyes seeking out Tony where he's kind of hovering sadly in the background. He's upset that the SFA's worries have proven true. 

"Abby .." Tony drawls out, waiting for the quirky Forensics goth to look at him. He draws in a slow, steady breath, his hand moving toward the inhaler in his pocket without realizing. "Did you rerun the test for the Jefferson/Bethesda case for me?" He manages by some miracle to keep his voice even and gentle as he addresses her. He forces himself to walk deeper into the room, already prepared for the negative he knows he is going to get. Her laugh and shake of the head, however, are harsher than he expected her reaction to be.

"No, Tony. I already told you that I wasn't going to rerun that. I checked three times when I ran the test initially and I know I did it right. There's no reason to go back over it." His lips compress into a thin, white line of emotion at her flippant attitude, and he draws in another deep, burning breath in preparation of telling her exactly why she will rerun the test. And right this minute. However, he never gets past the pursing of his lips in preparation to speak before he feels something sticky and gross covering his mouth. 

His lips purse out further, his eyes nearly going crossed so that he can see the word Trainee written across the sticker stuck to his mouth. For one moment, he sees red. He reaches up, rips the sticker away with a hoarse whimper of pain. He balls the sticker up and tosses it into the trash. 

"That's it, Abigail." He growls the woman's full name, done with the cutsie nicknames just right now. "You were asked to do your job. You were asked to run an analysis. You have refused." Abby frowns, drawing herself up, prepared to argue, but Tony holds up a single hand to stop her. "Don't say a damn word, Miss Sciuto. It seems I failed in making myself clear last time." Tony turns and grabs up her little collection of stickers, and rips them to pieces, binning them angrily. "I am telling you, that you will rerun the Jefferson/Bethesda test. You do -not- get to pick and choose what parts of your job you will do." His hands pluck at the edge of his shirt, his eyes closing for a moment as he feels another wave of dizziness.

"Tony, there is no sound reason for me to --"

"I am -still- not done, Miss Sciuto. I don't need a reason beyond asking you to redo the test. Period. But you want an -argument- as to why you must do your job? Fine. When you ran the tests, you had just re-calibrated the Mass Spectrometer. You ran that test three times ... in 24 hours. Within 24 hours -after- those three tests, you realized that the Mass Spectrometer needed to be calibrated again. You need to redo the test." With that, Tony turns and practically runs from the room. He's trembling with pent up emotion, and he's not sure if he wants to scream or break down crying. Hell, with the way he's feeling these days, he would probably do both. Would break down into a sobbing, screaming, snotty mess. Real attractive, DiNozzo.

Gibbs has remained silent during this exchange. His hands disappeared behind his back to allow him to stand at a basic parade rest. Not a usual stance, but he needed to be able to clasp his hands together out of sight. So that neither Abby or Tony would see the fingers scratching and clawing at one another. Clenching and unclenching. 

He carefully forces his hands to release one another, knowing there's a good chance his wrists will be sporting faint bruises within the next day or so. He forces himself to relax. Trying uncoil the muscles in his arms, legs, and back. He reaches up to scrub his palm down his face, exhaling softly.

"Gibbs! He can't .. he shouldn't ... Tony can't talk that way to me." She whines softly, her lip jutting in a childish pout. She seemed so odd at times. In some moments, a brilliant forensic scientist, in other .. a child that whines and moans and pouts if she doesn't get her way. "He's not -you- Gibbs. He can't -order- me to run tests." She stomps her platformed foot and turns back, prepared to pick up her contraption.

Gibbs takes a deep breath and walks toward her garbage, looking through it for a moment. He plucks out an intact trainee sticker and turns back toward Abby. He turns her around and smooths the sticker over her forehead, shaking his head. She actually seems to wither at the look of raw disappointment in his ice blues.

"Tony tried to talk to you in a reasonable manner, and when you refused to listen, he spoke to you in a formal one. Which, I gotta say, Abigail, is far more civil than I wanna be with you at the moment." He turns and heads toward the door, but only gets about half way before he can't take it any more. He whirls around to face her, anger apparent in all things. His facial features, his sparking eyes, the hard set of his jaw and the clenching of his hands. 

"You are right, Abigail, Tony -ain't- me. In truth, he's a hell of a lot better! Ever stop to think about that?" He snarls the words, the anger he has managed to hold at bay all damn day now rippling and pouring over. "He has -never- let this team down! He has done everything in his fucking abilities to make sure this team remained intact. That everyone comes home safe, that no one gets left behind. He stepped up and took control when I left you all in the lurch, and you lot are treating him like shit for even -trying- to keep it together. I have never been so disappointed in anyone in my entire life as I am with this so-called team. You are all immature, foolish little children! None of you belong on an -adult- team." He turns back around and heads for the door.

"Your job is to run tests when Agents ask you to, Abigail. Not just -me-. I am having you written up for disciplinary action." With those last few words, he sweeps out of the lab, hell bent on getting to his poor boy and making sure that he's okay. 

Abby whimpers and moans, pouting pathetically to the empty room around her as she tries to understand what had just happened. Gibbs ... HER GIBBS had just chose -Tony- over -HER-!? She almost manages to convince herself that something is wrong. Gibbs is lying to try and placate Tony. Yes, she is -still- Gibbs favorite. This is Tony's fault somehow.

* * *

"DiNozzo." Gibbs calls out as he follows his SFA into the elevator. No sooner are the doors closed, than the tickle gets the best of him. Tiny breaks down into a violent, high velocity coughing fit. His entire body shudders with each cough. His hand fists against his lips, and his other fumbles to try and get the inhaler from his pocket. 

"Tony!" Gibbs leaps into action. He rushes up, behind his friend. Wraps his arms around him as he pushes his own back against the wall of the elevator. He carefully slides down it, so that Tony is drawn back, against his chest and then down, into his lap. "Come on, Tone. I gotcha." He reaches up to push the flat of one hand against Tony's heart. He shudders in tandem with his SFA as another series of coughs robs him of his breath. The free hand doesn't bother to warn or apologize. Rule 18; It's better to ask forgiveness than ask permission. So, he plunges his fingers into Tony's pocket to fish the inhaler out. 

"Come on, Tony. It's gonna be okay. Take this .." He follows the routine steps. Shake inhaler, pop lid, guide to Tony's discolored lips. He helps the younger man hit the inhaler three times, the coughs having died down. Once his breathing is now only shaky rather than violent, he shoves the inhaler into his coat pocket and pulls Tony a little tighter back, against his chest. "Breath with me, Tone. Come on. That's it." He murmurs the words soft and soothing against the shell of the younger man's ear. His hand still hovering over Tony's heart, his chest expanding against Tony's back to guide him with each breath.

Eventually, he feels his poor boy relaxing. Sort of .. melting into his embrace and the worry and fear are instantly replaced with loving happiness. If not a small touch of embarrassment. Because the elevator doors have opened and two female agents have climbed on. But neither spoke a word. Simply watched, bright and wide eyed, as Second B is for Bastard Gibbs talks his Senior Field Agent out of a couching fit/panic attack. 

Gibbs has only a moment to focus on a most amusing thought; if anyone at NCIS had doubted that the two were a 'couple,' this would pretty much cement the thought. He tries to fight down a sudden wave of nauseating panic. What if Tony didn't want anyone knowing? Ah, fuck, what if he didn't -want- to be a couple!? They hadn't exactly had time to actually talk about what may or may not be between them. And now, he's gonna and given people what could be the way wrong impression. 

This is why rule 12. This is why one does not allow the lines of home and work to blur. But, at the same time, even as he is facing a possible panic attack of his own, he is forcing himself to refocus on his friend.

"You okay, Tone?" He reaches up, fingers carding so very gently through his friend's hair. -DEFINITELY- an at home activity, but also one needed. Because he knows how much the action soothes his friend, and Tony is in dire need of soothing.

"T-thanks .. Jethro. Thank you." The words are barely audible, the waning adrenaline leaving the poor young man completely knackered. Gibbs squeezes him closer for a single moment, before he gently, reluctantly, pulls out from behind him. 

"No problem, DiNozzo." He carefully helps Tony to his feet, not letting go of his hand even as the doors to the elevator open again. He leads him out into the bullpen, and straight to his own desk again. He gently settles him in the chair and turns, moving toward the stairs and the Director's office.

* * *


	6. McZiva the Finale

If McGee and Ziva are aware of the personal, almost loving way in which Gibbs settles a red faced, sweaty Tony at his desk rather than Tony's, they don't mention it. They do, however, both try to catch curious, concerned glimpses at their Senior Field Agent. McGee remembers the incident with the Plague, while Ziva has merely heard the highlights of that horrible time. But both are aware of the fact that Tony has compromised lungs. One of the factors they have both used when insisting that they would be better suited for something than Tony would. 

But now, seeing how out of sorts he looks, they are genuine concerned. McGee reaches into his pocket, pulling out a clean handkerchief. He is to his feet in an instant, walking over to Gibbs' desk and holding the hanky out to his friend.

"I'm sorry, Tony. For how badly I acted earlier. Well ... oh, hell, for how badly I've been acting for a while now." Tony glances up warily, hesitating for a moment before he takes the hanky and begins to rub it across his face, dabbing away the sweaty. "You're right. You are the Senior Field Agent, and it's a position you earned. Sorry for giving you gruff over it."

"It's okay, McGee." He manages to crack a smile for the younger man, leaning carefully back in his seat. He runs the hanky across the nape of his neck, wincing at how sore he is there from all of the coughing. He glances toward the stairs, waiting patiently. Wondering where Gibbs had to go to in such a hurry, but resigned to the fact that it's none of his business. 

"I suppose I too, should apologize." Ziva's voice drifts over from her desk, her features downcast, unreadable. Tony nearly rolls his eyes, having the feeling that she doesn't think she owes him one. Probably only speaking because she thinks she must.

"Don't bother, Ziva. I know you won't mean it." Tony sighs the words, shoving the hanky into his pocket as he moves toward his desk to grab his bag up. He considers just sitting there, but he didn't want to hurt Gibbs' feelings. So, he returns to Gibbs' desk, settling in the seat there. 

"You are correct, Tony. I see no reason as to why McGee or myself would owe you an apology in the first place." McGee frowns, shooting Ziva an unbelieving look. He scrutinizes her features for any sign that she is purposefully being difficult, and is shocked to realize. No. She truly doesn't see how her disrespect is a bad thing. Hinky. 

"Of course you don't, Ziver. And therein lies the problem." Gibbs voice is harsh. Echoing with notes of anger, disappointment and something more instinctive and hard to place. He waltzes into the bullpen, and right up to Ziva's desk. Leaning over it so that he is face to face with her. Neither blink.

"There is no problem here, Gibbs." She states matter-of-factly, preparing to turn away. The rage that Gibbs has been keeping at bay finally snaps. Exacerbated by the fear and concern of what Tony has just gone through, and Gibbs burns with a fiery condemnation of the woman before him.

"Like hell there isn't, officer David!" Without warning, furled fists come crashing down on top of her keyboard. The sound of plastic twisting, crunching and deforming do little to rattle his cage or calm his rage. "I have watched as no less than -three- times today, you have been a condescending pain in the ass. You have outright refused to follow orders presented by an agent that outranks you, and have on occasion even seemed to imply that your own disrespectful nature is Tony's doing and not your own." He draws his hands up, forcefully unfurling his fists, letting them drop to his side. 

"As of now, you are suspended without pay, officer David. Two weeks. If, after those two weeks, you feel you are capable of returning and showing some respect for the chain of command, you're still on my team. If not? Well, best look for another job." He turns to face McGee then, scowling darkly.

"You, at least, had the balls to apologize. Though it's just about too little, too late. You have been acting like an egotistical moron! -Tony- is the only reason you're on my team, McGee. He recommended you. Saw potential in you. But I gotta say, I am hard pressed to find a single redeeming quality in you at the moment." McGee withers under Gibbs' stare, his fingers fidgeting faintly as he tries to bare the burden of his team leaders' disappointment.

"You are also suspended for two weeks without pay. I'm telling you the exact same thing I told Officer David, Agent McGee. You got two weeks to get your shit together, get your head on straight, and decide if you -really- want to be a member of our team. If you come back, you will follow the chain of command. You will give the Senior Field Agent the respect such a position is due. Do I make myself clear!?"

"Yes, Boss!" Both McGee and Ziva practically trip over themselves to be heard. Gibbs slowly turns his back on the two, leaving them to pack their things and get the hell out of the bullpen. He studies Tony. Who still looks worn out, pale, off colored around the lips, but none of that matters. Because beneath the pallor, he can see traces of a blush. He can see that bright, all encompassing smile beginning, and it warms him through and through.

"Come on, Tony. We have the next week off, unless a case comes up." He grabs both of thier bags, and after a moment of hesitation, offers his hand to his friend. With a shy, whimsical smile, Tony slides his hand into Jethro's, the two quietly making their way out of NCIS.

Yes, the laughter had died ... yes, so many revelations have come and there are more to follow. And no real decisions have been made. But so what? Tony is smiling, Jethro is grinning ... they will handle things together as they come. As it should be. Not too bad for a couple that didn't even realize they were dating.

"Yeah, lets go home, Jethro."

* * *

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a third part covering the actual Date and personal changes in their lives.


End file.
